Читать книгу Arqtiq: A Study of the Marvels at the North Pole - Anna Adolph - Страница 5

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The north star in the heavens, shining faintly through the half-clear atmosphere, has decided us on our locality at the dearly attained goal, costing us friends, and country, and possibly our lives.

The sound of our voices falls dead around and echoes into the deep valley below. No sign of the beautiful city we had fancifully pictured. Thankful to die in the light, with the stars to take our last breath, is only left us.

Mae complainingly whimpers: “There isn’t a pole at all!”

“Nor open sea,” growls Charley, hoarsely.

“The width of the valley determines the flattening of the earth, though,” sighs father.

Fall dead around, did I say? our voice—I level the glass down the berg side beneath me. I see at the sound a snowy mass turn about, with a human face uplifted toward me.

So great the size and wondrous fair the countenance I believed myself deceived, as it quickly turns back. But I see two hands clasp together in signal. Then low organ notes swell from below, which, when loudest grown, suddenly stop.

When the sun in hailing gleam lights a tall spire, supporting a ring of gold points arising from the valley center, which I now trace for the first time. Led to examine the valley around it, I see shapes of domes and wall—signs of a buried city. What are they doing? Whirling and shaking? Presto! the snow canvas rolls off, unveiling a full-fledged and much-alive city to my amazed mind. From last extreme of despair my hopes suddenly arise to so sudden height! I fall forward and cover my eyes, to keep my brain intact. The city at last. City of Zion! Sung of poets and portrayed of artists inspired of its contour and elysian beauty. Hope raises a hosanna in my breast that is chorused around me, where I now give my attention.

The human presence below, with feather-plume robes, so like snow, swaying back, is hastening up in giant strides, anxious expectation on his face. As he reaches the ledge on which we lodge the choral voices around disclose a throng of people similar to him lining all the mountain sides. Their pæan of praise to their city’s prowess ended, with shouts and conversation they prepare to descend. Nearly running over us, babes to them in size, they at last spy us, as the first kneels in adoration, his hands over us in protection and token of possession.

With tender emotion he essays to quiet our alarm, managing at last to emit words that sounded like “Welcome, Unions!” For a moment I wonder if other Americans are here lost before us. Then we bow low in reply. Assured of our trust in him he takes charge and lifts us from our ruined vehicle to another, standing near, which is no less than a great white albatross, one of many now being mounted by the throng. Robes are drawn about us, after we are presented to a lady, also in his charge, who, with less success, attempts the words he first used. Feeling quite among friends, as he lifts a feather-tufted guiding wand resting on the bird’s head, I turn to the lady by my side, whose first glance, as though in bitterness, before our arrival, has changed to liveliest sociability in gestures, nods and smiles upon Mae, who is cuddled in her lap.

With womanly curiosity I essay to learn the city’s name. Understanding my desire she essayed to reply, in cordial, harmonious tones, “Arc.” Farther inquiry in my eyes, I get the farther delineation, “It circles Aurora,” meaning, no doubt, the electric centre. Content with this, I scan the dimensions growing, as we approach, and ride high above, the snowy pinions of the bird throng clouding the air.

Courts are numerous, covered with great glass domes and domes rolled back. As we turn down to one of these I hear father whisper to our host, “How do you know English?”

With effort he kindly gives the following: “My father, when younger, explored a great deal upon the iceberg sea around. Venturing too far one day, he became lost in an island garden, to find camped there a people like you, who fed and cared for him.” How simple; his kindness is in gratitude.

“But where are the people?” father farther inquired.

“I do not know. He became lost again from them to find his own city.”

Alighting, we are led through conservatory halls to an apartment-like hall. Of great magnificence, it is yet quite homelike, with great cushions strewn about that are seats for the great people but beds in size for us. I fall on one and am soon fast asleep. Awaking partially, a melody is soothing my senses. Sitting up, I see a fountain whence issues the sounds. In it I bathe face and hands, when the water, acting medicinal, I feel revived and buoyant, also quite hungry. Father and Charley are talking, the latter ending with “It suits me.”

Mae, still asleep, talks spasmodically. “Oh, auntie! Oh, mamma!” At the last a pain enters my heart, never more to leave. Opening her eyes, she slowly takes in the situation. Seeing the pain in my face, she throws her arms about my neck and says, gently, “No matter, auntie; it is a sweet place here, anyway.”

The rest now giving way to hunger, as our hosts duly regard us with infantile solicitude, I put my hand in my mouth, as in the latter’s fashion. Immediately wheels of itself into the room a table laden with food. Staring at its wizard-like action, we are seated to it. No dish, knife or fork, or board. Probably not in the land. An enameled lily leaf. The food, light and solid, piled in little fruit cups. One is put in each our mouths, cup and all. I taste and find it palatable. Our appetites satisfied, out wheels the table, making Mae smile and become merry. Seeing us still high perched, our jolly friends rally around us, pull our toes and pinch our cheeks, until I wish I had refrained in initiating this program. Soon in comes a hassock and wheeling to us, gives us an opportunity to alight. Mae down last, remains seated on it, when it starts around the room with her, pirouetting in mazy figures, giving its occupant mazy face.

When stopped, the host whistles, to bring from a corner two great white mice, kitten size. As he twirls his fingers, they fall to the floor, a green sward; folding their four pink paws to their breasts, they become round balls, thus roll about, greatly to our amusement.

This has suggested to the lady, who proposes to “go out in town to an entertainment that is funny, oh, so funny.”

The host, in gleesome impulse, elects to take me. Raising me on his hand, he asks my name. Charley, quite diverted, gives it, “Anna.”

“Ah, you are angel, Anna!” when Charley reads the puzzle, remarking, “He means ‘English.’ ” Then he kisses me squarely in the mouth, to my immediate struggle to get down, which I succeed in doing while he is taking Charley in his other hand, who now, unlike other husbands, proceeds to lecture me. “Do not be odd; you see it is all right. It is evening hour in America (swallowing); we will enjoy this, our first evening here.”

Mae, who has taken to the hand I have left, reaches and pinches him; at which I laugh and spring into a pocket in front of the lady, upon whose shoulder sits my father, his hand holding her feather cap. So utterly without matronly dignity am I, I am glad for once that home friends cannot see my position.

Getting into the center of the street, she stops, (I nearly fall) and sits upon a chair, raised from the road-bed by the man, who takes another. The object is plain, when we move swiftly along as on a track.

Mae asks ingenuously her bearer’s name; he gives it in Arc language, what sounds to us like “Show Off,” which we shall now call him. Then looking to my bearer he says: “She is Aunt Robet, a dear old maid, who is always taking care of us, papa and I, when mother is away.” He goes over and squeezes her shoulders. As father innocently sticks a pin into his hand, he looks so queerly at the hurt, it is plain he does not know the cause, or never felt the like before. In our childish role we still question: “Where is your papa?” “Oh, he is always in his house (room). You can live with him,” looking at my father. Seeing us unwilling at such an arrangement, his aunt explains: “He is a student, a very great savant, who is always busy in his office or study.” This alters the matter; father’s eyes glisten with expectation.

Arrived at the hall I see a great space in the floor, that is grooved in pattern. I look to see if a cable line is drawing through, when I am deposited on a chair directly above. The rest have chairs near by. Mae retaining her place in Show Off’s lap. The other chairs in the room are being rapidly filled. I cannot determine the entertainment so wait developments. Not long. The word is given, the chairs start off, getting a swift gait. I suddenly remember Mae’s hassock, but she is watching Charley, who takes a firm hold, as the important look, assumed at our departure, goes slowly off his face, ejaculating but once “Shake.” I think, too, shake, for quiver, jerk, jump, all in rotation; music playing is the order. Enjoying our mutual discomfiture, our chairs opposite, we are treated at the last to a grand bounce, that sends us into each other’s arms, so close. Had not Mae been held firm, she would have fallen, in her convulsion of mirth.

We lose no time in getting down, and close to our bearers. Aunt Robet, placid in demeanor, I calculate how to get even with her. Though she had declared it funny, I look at her viciously, when she condescends to graciously explain: “This is our outing celebration; the city shakes off its veil to greet the sun; shaking is, therefore, the order of the day.” Hence this little exercise, I was happy to have amused her.

We ride now leisurely home, viewing the heavy buildings of great blocks of ice, shining in the sunlight. Why they do not melt I cannot tell. Afterwards I learn they are covered with an enamel that preserves them. The picturing on their sides is done by fracturing; the graceful cornices and other trimmings are in imitation of snowflake crystals, relieving to beauty their solidity. Quite exhausted on our return, we are given apartments to ourselves, in which we prepare to rest.

Convinced that false positions are unfortunate, I resolve to adopt a dignified bearing, suitable to my maturity, my short experience in babyhood, however remunerative, proving quite objectionable in excess of bestowment.

Hearing father sigh, as he watches the dawn that beckons to arise instead of sleep, I essay to comfort him. “Dear father, has not God sent us here to convert them?” “Too intelligent,” he mutters; “they will convert us.” Science is his religion.